


En Route

by EllieL



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: The journey from England to Sept-Tours is not an easy one, especially for Diana.





	En Route

Diana’s only prior experience riding sidesaddle had been the one ride she’d taken with Ysabeau; it had been challenging, but she’d been on Rakasa, and in a relatively modern sidesaddle, meant for riding out with a hunt. It had felt awkward at the time, but it in retrospect, she appreciated the prior experience, and it had been easy compared with this saddle, apparently the latest in Renaissance design, but not providing her the same balance and security, or comfort. 

Matthew, on the other hand, looked right at home astride a series of massive black horses as they made their way across France. She’d thought she knew what a knight looked like that first day they’d gone riding at Sept-Tours, but seeing him now, she realized how inadequate her imagination had been. The modern medical researcher had vanished entirely, and she was watching the chevalier returning home. 

Yet the further they traveled, the more uncomfortable she felt, even in a basic physical level. As they crossed the breadth of France, the comfort portion of the saddle equation became increasingly problematic for her. She slipped and slid in the seat, and her undergarments chafed more and more with each passing mile. 

When they finally stopped for the night after the fourth straight day of riding, she was half-frozen and couldn’t feel her fingers or toes, in addition to feeling unable to sit properly from her chafed seat. She stumbled into the chateau, snapping at Matthew when he offered an arm to guide her to dinner and refusing to do more than lie, prone, on the thick feather bed they’d been given.

“Diana, come have dinner.” He glowered in the doorway, flickering candlelight making the sharp angles of his face harsher. 

“I’m tired and sore.” She shook her head into the mattress, barely turning to look at him. “Right now, I am going to sleep. And tomorrow I’m going to ride astride like a normal person.”

The heavy oak door closed resoundingly behind him, and the soles of his boots echoed across the stone floor as he crossed the room with preternatural speed. “My wife cannot be seen riding across France astride like a peasant.”

Sighing deep in her throat, she rolled onto her side to face him. He stood beside the bed, face pinched, shoulders tight, and arms crossed. But she felt equally frustrated. “I  _ am _ a peasant. And if you want me to get back on a horse tomorrow, I’ll be riding like one.”

“Not here, you aren’t. And you have no choice but to get back on a horse--” he broke off and turned away, hands swinging out for something to grab, throw, smash. There was nothing in the tidy room, though. Hands fisted against his hips instead, and he stood, head bowed, facing away from her for a moment.

“Matthew…” she began before sitting up, and he turned back to her. He didn’t miss her wince as she slid across to the edge of the bed.

“Diana,  _ dieu _ , I’m sorry.” He was immediately at the side of the bed, kneeling, hands on her knees stopping her. “Lay back down, I will have dinner brought up. Would you like a hot bath? I think that can be arranged.”

Groaning, she laid back down on the feather bed. “A bath sounds heavenly.”

“I will order one for you. I’m sorry, I know it is difficult, but Philippe has ordered us to Sept-Tours, and will not appreciate delay. We must ride.” He stroked her hand, still almost as cold as his. 

She looked into his eyes, creased with worry, saw his hunched shoulders. “You would prefer to delay.”

“I have been summoned. I don't have a choice.” His head dropped against her shoulder, heavy. After a moment's hesitation, she reached up to stroke her fingers through his hair, longer now, but still shorter than the style of the times.

He’d seemed anxious about Philippe since the summons had arrived. But as they got closer to Sept-Tours, his worry seemed deeper, more pronounced. He had become more anxious, seeming to vacillate between wanting to constantly be with her and trying to ignore her, unable to strike the right balance for either of them. She wanted to comfort him, tell him this unimaginable adventure would all work out for them, in spite of her own doubts.

“It will be all right, Matthew. I’ll be all right, after a bath and a rest.”

“Let me take care of that for you then,” he said, courtly manners returning, gently kissing her forehead before straighting back up, transforming back into the Renaissance prince he’d become here.

He was out the door before she could even stand up from the bed. Watching the heavy oak door fall closed behind him, she began to unfasten the layers of clothing. Some layers were easier to remove than others, especially on her own. She’d have to wait until he returned, or a maid was sent up with the bath water.

It wasn’t a long wait; she’d barely gotten off half the accessible layers, and was rather ridiculously contorted in an attempt to remove several underlayers. The sight was enough to make him smile, the first she’d seen on his face in days, as he returned with a tray. Whatever it was smelled good, and her stomach grumbled suddenly. He smiled again and put the tray down on a small table near the door.

“It’s just stew. And a tub and hot water are on their way, if you want to eat in the meantime.”

She recognized the peace offering for what it was, and sat at the table as he poured two glasses of wine and sat opposite her.

“Is it so very uncomfortable? Ysabeau always made it look easy.”

Taking a sip of the wine, she quirked a brow at him. “ _ Ysabeau _ is a vampire who has been riding sidesaddle all her life. Probably in appropriate undergarments.”

“What can I do to help?” Wine swirled in his glass as he considered her.

She took a bite of the stew and considered. “No private planes here, are there?”

He choked on a laugh, and shook his head before taking another sip of the wine.

“Then we just need to get there. Even if I dressed like a boy and rode astride--and it’s a little late to try a hare-brained romance novel scheme like that anyway--I think it would still chafe. I’m just not used to riding this much.” 

“I’d forgotten how hard it can be. Even for a vampire it’s not easy to travel so far by horse. We take our modern conveniences for granted. I wish we could go slower. Or not at all.”

“It will be okay, Matthew. Philippe may be able to help us. Me.”

Matthew only looked at her darkly, and turned his attention to the wine. Any eventual response he might have made was preempted by the arrival of a copper bathing tub, and several maids with buckets of water. They drank, and she ate, in silence as the bath was prepared.

One of the maids curtseyed before them, then asked her something she couldn’t understand. She looked to Matthew, who nodded, then stood.

“She’ll help you with your dress. I’ll be back when you’re finished.”

Standing to face him, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Or you could stay. Wash my back.”

He cleared his throat and shook his head, not meeting her eyes. “I’ve got to plan our route for tomorrow.”

With that, he disappeared out the doorway into the chateau’s maze of hallways. She turned her back to the maid, waving a hand toward the laces down her back. When she was left in just her shift, the maid stepped back and disappeared out the door as well. 

She was alone.

The copper tub was small, barely big enough to fit a seated adult. Shedding the shift, she tested the water with a toe before stepping into the comfortably warm water. It must have come a long way from the kitchens, but it was enough to soothe her muscles as she eased down, legs bending several different ways before she comfortably settled. Instantly, she missed Matthew’s massive tub at Sept-Tours, and wondered what accommodations there would be like.

She was a historian, but she studied science. The minutia of daily life throughout the ages hadn’t been something she’d ever studied in depth, except as it related to individuals she was researching. And knowing about the past in abstract was vastly different than experiencing it as she was doing now. She hadn’t thought it would be this difficult.

With a sigh, she leaned back against the edge of the copper tub, letting the warmth of the water suffuse her sore legs. Muscles she’d never been aware of before ached, and she longed for a deep soaking tub, for bubbles and jets and scents. But this would do, was better than the previous accomodations they’d had, nicer than anything since Mont St. Michel. 

As muscles eased, she must have dozed off, for she awoke to the rattle of the door opening again, water grown cool, as the maid reappeared, a new linen shift in hand. 

“Madame.” She hung it over the chair back with a curtsey, then disappeared out the door again.

Water sluiced off her as she rose, and dried herself with a rough towel. She thought wistfully of the soft towels at Sept-Tours, of her own warm pajamas as she slipped the linen shift over her head. The bed was more comfortable than she remembered it from when she’d crashed into it earlier, and the coverlets were warm, surmounted by a layer of furs.

It was easy to fall asleep. Waking was instant, though, when he slipped into the bed beside her. “Matthew.”

“I’m sorry. Sleep, I only meant to check on you.” He settled carefully next to her, barely shifting the bedding.

“Are you not resting?” She turned over, reaching for him.

She heard rather than saw the shake of his head against the pillows.

“No. If it were just us, we’d be riding straight through, stopping just long enough to change horses.”

“We’re going too slowly, then.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “Yes.”

“Will it be a problem that we’re taking so long?”

“Yes.” His head dropped forward, forehead resting against hers. She slid her hands up to frame his face, fingers tracing the edge of his hair. Momentarily, he seemed to relax into her touch, but when she tried to brush her lips against his, he pulled back. Then rolled over onto his back.

“Matthew?”

Shaking his head, he was rigid with tension. It only seemed to get worse as she rolled into her side, flush against him. Her hands ran over the soft linen of his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his chest nearly quivering. 

“This feels like a bad idea.” She knew he wasn’t talking about her hands on him.

“We don’t have a choice,” she whispered, before leaning over to kiss him. “But we can make the best of it. You can see him again, I’ll be able to meet him.”

Something like a whimpering sigh escaped him, rattling the chest under her palms. 

“Or is that what’s worrying you?”

“He doesn’t like witches.”

“You told me the same thing about Ysabeau. That was fine, once we got to know one another.”

“Ysabeau is...not Philippe.”

He’d been walling himself off since their arrival. But here was an opening, even if he surely didn’t mean it as an invitation. She knew his reactive desire was to drop this whole line of conversation, for her to drift back to sleep. But that was not what he needed.

“Tell me something else about him.”

“Is his being a witch hating tyrant not enough to know?”

She shook her head, burrowing deeper into the bedding and his side, wrapping one arm around him. Settling in.

“I like listening to you. Tell me something about him.”

For a moment, his tension seemed to grow, then broke like a fever as he turned and wrapped her in his arms. She melted into him then, and felt him relax further, then take a slow, deep breath. 

“All right, mon coeur. You know that Ysabeau made me, but Phillipe always had a soft spot for me. As a young man in the village, I learned a trade, became a master mason, what would be like an architect in your lifetime. I never wielded a sword, or rode into battle. He trained me, taught me…”

His rich voice lulled her to sleep, feeling closer to him than she had since they’d timewalked back here. In many ways, he’d seemed just as overwhelmed as she felt, though in entirely different ways. Now, at least, he was talking to her, had seemed to relax a bit, enough to let her wrap herself around him. Because she knew that much as he might pretend otherwise, he needed reassurance, too. She dozed off, letting her weary body rest, and letting him think he was just helping her.

  
  


But in the morning, he would be gone when she woke. The bed was cold, the room colder. She dressed quickly and ate hastily, without seeing him. Only when she emerged into the courtyard did she see him, standing beside the horses, shoulders tight and brow furrowed once more.

“Good morning.” She crossed to him carefully, one eye on the mucky ground.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, then looked at the bay horse he was leading towards her. “Rested and ready to ride.” 

“Hopefully our ride today will be easier.” He stopped the mare beside her, and gestured to the saddle. It was the sidesaddle again, but it had a thick sheepskin on the seat this time, and looked more inviting than it had last night when she’d climbed off of it.

Nodding again, she turned and allowed him to lift her up onto the saddle, and help arrange her skirts as she settled into place. 

“Thank you.”

The hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth for just a moment, and his fingers squeezed her ankle a moment as he placed her foot in the delicate stirrup. Then without a word, he stepped back and turned to his own black horse and swung easily into the saddle. The morning was cold as they rode out of the chateau, but she felt just a bit more secure and comfortable than she had the day before.

*

  
  



End file.
